


Snakey Snacks

by ileolai



Series: One Shots (Good Omens) [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, aziraphale is a princess, crowley is a troll, shenanigans ensue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 17:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai/pseuds/ileolai
Summary: Something has invaded the shop. Crowley has some suggestions for what is to be done with it. Promethia_tenk offered the line about tabasco sauce.





	Snakey Snacks

Aziraphale is ''organizing'' his shop, which really just means moving clutter aside to make room for more clutter and not really ''organizing'' anything at all. He has a new order of first editions arriving, lovely new things to covet and scowl at humans over. Humans and their curious, greasy fingers-- somehow getting in and poking about despite his strenuous attempts to encourage them otherwise.  
  
He scoops up a pile of dusty, yellowed papers scattered on the floor-- and _shrieks_. A tiny creature darts between his feet, skitters across the floor, and disappears somewhere into the shop.  
  
Aziraphale, clutching his chest, fumbles for the phone.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Some time later-- still mid-panic attack-- he hears the shop bell jingle.   
  
Thank Heaven, the cavalry has finally arrived. The angel has been planted in the same spot since he dialed the phone, scared to flush the creature out and have a second cardiac arrest. Or squish it on his precious books.  
  
Crowley saunters into the shop, doing his best to project the aura of being a very busy demon, terribly inconvenienced by Aziraphale's pleas, who does not care at all to rescue him from things. ''You called?''  
  
''I think, I think there's a mouse in the shop.''  
  
''Well,'' Crowley drawls, unimpressed. ''That's what you get for living in a rubbish pile and leaving biscuit crumbs everywhere, isn't it?''  
  
''I like biscuits.''  
  
''So do rodents.''  
  
He's not wrong, but logic and reason are not what he was summoned for. This is an emergency. ''I'm worried it might chew holes in my books ...'' Aziraphale whines, offering one of those well-rehearsed _oh help me Crowley, help me please_ sort of looks. (They have worked to restore the balance of power in his favour for millennia.)  
  
Crowley is unmoved. He raises an eyebrow.  
  
''You want me to eat it?''  
  
''No!''  
  
''Then what?''  
  
''Take it outside, please.''  
  
''... Take it outside and eat it?''  
  
_''NO!''  
_  
Crowley smirks, relishing the angst he's inflicting, as Crowley generally does. He starts poking around the shop for the furry terror, deliberately unhurried, taking his time to drive Aziraphale further up the wall.  
  
''If you didn't want me to eat it,'' he says, thumping theatrically on an empty box, ''why did you tell me you had free snacks running around in your shop?''  
  
''He's not a snack!''  
  
'' _He?_ Are you attached to it now?''   
  
''No--''  
  
''Are you going to knit it a little sweater-vest? Tiny mittens? Once it's shat all over your Sondheim transcripts--''  
  
''He's one of God's creatures, Crowley!'' The angel snaps. ''They're all precious in the eyes of the Almighty.''  
  
''Well now I _have_ to eat it.''  
  
''CROWLEY!''  
  
''Alright alright alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I'll find it, okay? And I'll try very very hard not to eat it. On my honour as a-- uhh.'' He shrugs. ''I won't eat it. Pinky swear.''  
  
Aziraphale sighs, wills himself to trust the thoroughly untrustworthy grin, but is not entirely reassured. Calling a snake to solve a rodent problem may have been a bad idea, but he doesn't have a lot of other options. And he's never actually been certain how much of a snake-snake Crowley is-- he still whinges about the lack of tropical heat in London, and leaves sheets of scales shed around the bathroom. Does he eat things snakes generally eat? Wouldn't put it past him.   
  
He hovers behind Crowley as the demon meanders around his shop, anxiously keeping watch. Crowley overturns books and paper and shuffles through boxes in his assigned quest.  
  
Then he pops up from behind a bookshelf, grinning with new evil. ''If I find his friends, we can have vol-au-vents.''   
  
''Stop it.''  
  
''Think of it as a furry oyster. Little tabasco, down the hatch.''   
  
''You infernal fiend--''  
  
The snarky quips and corresponding indignation go back and forth for another hour.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
''Aha! _Found_ you, little fucker!''  
  
Crowley finally discovered the mouse cowering in a box of sheet music. The speed with which he snatches him up is terrifying. Aziraphale whimpers.  
  
''Oh, he's fine. Look.'' Crowley dangles the unfortunate creature by the tail-- he's quite alive, and not at all agreeable with his predicament, squeaking in protest. But he's also not being digested, which Aziraphale can muster up a little gratitude for.  
  
''Thank you, Crowley.''   
  
''No problem.'' Crowley ambles to the door with his little furry prize in hand, and then he pauses. ''You wanna name your best friend before he goes?'' A fair enough apology for how deliberately insufferable he's been.  
  
''Timothy,'' says Aziraphale, not at all too quickly and like he had already decided on that quite a while ago.  
  
''Alright Timothy, you little shit. Shoo. Be free.'' Crowley sets the thwarted invader by the door.  
  
''Not there, you idiot! He'll run back into the--''  
  
Timothy darts right back into the shop.  
  
Once again, the little mouse vanishes into the anarchy of books-- inflaming the argument about his relative worth in the grand scheme of things anew.


End file.
